


Captive Audience

by fandumbandflummery



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Dirty Talk, Everyday life with the Death Watch, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Questionable anger management techniques, Rough Sex, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 11:45:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10741056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandumbandflummery/pseuds/fandumbandflummery
Summary: Bo-Katan thinks that dirty-talking the boss over a private comm channel is a great idea. Pre isn’t entirely on board with the idea - but doesn’t exactly have a choice in the matter...





	Captive Audience

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I just wrote the Beethoven’s Ninth of phone sex. I have to go lie down for a while...

Bo-katan sighed, watching the tens of tiny tracking beacons inch around the screen. In the absence of any really powerful planet-scanning tech, their combined-ops system - of landing the Jaig and the other smaller warships, dispatching scouts on swoop bikes and the long-range jetpacks, while leaving the mighty Gauntlet in orbit for security - worked just fine.

Important as this task was in laying the foundations for future Death Watch colonies, it was still karkin’ boring. At least the ship was warmer than it was outside. It was late fall on this little evergreen-forested moon, and the cold was beginning to bite. Her more restless Nite Owl companions had gone outside to let off some steam - whether that meant sparring or screwing, she wasn’t sure. Bo was taking full advantage of having heat and a reasonably comfortable space to herself, and had stripped off her armour down to her flight suit - with her pistols in reach, just in case.

She stretched before slumping down in the co-pilot seat, propping her feet up on the control console, her eyes glazing over a little as she watched the map display.

Normally they’d have left the job to Karhu Cin, an ice-bitten Werdan who’d been with them since the mad dash from Concordia. With his head for tech and ever-clear voice and seeming inability to ever get bored, he’d been the best code-slicer and comm-sparker the Death Watch had ever known. But that was before he’d had his brains blasted out by some Black Sun goon over several thousand credits siphoned - somewhat too quickly to remain discreet - over a few months from one of their front-casinos on Axxila.

Today, the roster had dictated the task of recon coordinator to fall to her. Despite her seniority, Bo-Katan willingly took the job out of a sense of responsibility to her clan. She knew the communication arrays of their beloved Kom'rk fleet better than anyone, from the Jaig to the Aay'han to the Shereshoy, to the Gauntlet herself.

Anyone, that is, apart from Vizsla.

Currently, the Kyrt'sad Mand'alor was nothing but a large amber dot on a pale blue holo-map, inching northwards from the position of the landed ship. He’d left some hours before, at the head of a party of four other soldiers - promising young supercommandos, honoured to be in the Mand'alor’s own scout group, and eager to watch and learn how a real Mando'ade did his job.

Bo-Katan smiled - it felt like ages ago when she’d first looked at him with the same rosy-tinted visor over her eyes, the first time she’d seen him kitted out in the sleek black armour…

A buzz jolted her out of her reverie, and the golden spot that stood in for her Mand'alor flashed on the screen. Bo-Katan sat up in the pilot seat, entered a brief sequence of numbers and hit the open-channel button.

“Vizsla here.”

“Jaig here,” she replied, “status report, boss?”

“Just miles of forest as far as any of us can see, fresh streams and ponds here and there. Couple of empty squatter-type settlements spotted - they’ll probably either be abandoned smuggler dens or old pirate hideouts. Once we secure the moon and make sure whoever built em isn’t coming back, they could be good starting points for settlement or defence, though - the families who wanted more space could set up out here real nice, if they don’t mind a bit of a chill once winter really hits.”

“Ursa and hers definitely won’t mind the cold - good luck getting her to move all the way out here, though. Lil’ Bean’s gotten pretty fond of Zanbar town.”

“That the little adiik is,” he answers, before his tone changes from Work Mode to something slightly hushed. “Are we on the private channel?”

Bo double-checks the mass of blue text and numbers on the screen beside her, and nods despite being invisible to him at the moment. 

“Yeah, we are.”

“Good,” he heaves a sigh of relief.

“How are you doing back there?”

“Oh, not too bad. The girls decided that playing in the woods was more fun than learning about the stim-spider’s web of comm arrays we’ve got going here.”

“Would’ve expected that from a bunch of shab'la teenagers - all got the attention spans of monkey-lizards on Blue. I don’t know how you deal with them,” Pre sighs.

“I hope it’s not too lonesome for you, sitting there alone at the comms.”

Bo smiles fondly at that. Pre never made a secret of their relationship to the rest of the Death Watch. They kissed openly in greeting and farewell - standard and Keldabe variants - and they sat side-by-side on the jury-rigged throne in the command tent, as all Mando rulers did with their consorts. But this emotional openness, kindness even, was something reserved for her and her alone in their most private moments.

It makes an ache rises up from somewhere deep in her chest, slow and sweet, like bubbles in uj'ayl.

“You know, it’s been ages since we last managed to be alone together?” she sighs, leaning forward, resting her head on her crossed arms as she watches the small blinking amber dot on the map.

“I know, cyare - partly why I used the private line for the report.” Bo smiles fondly at the affectionate term.

“I kinda miss it being like this - just with us, alone, no background chatter,” Pre paused just as the noise of the wind and the bike’s engine was overtaken by two of the young supercommandos shouting obscenities at each other. From the jumble of Mando'a and basic, Bo-Katan worked out that evidently one had clipped a branch and sent it snapping back into another’s visor.

“Well, almost none.”

“Just when I was about to add, ‘and no Nite Owls or super commandos bursting in when we’re trying to fuck.’ ”

She hears him laugh, a deep chuckle, unguarded and happy. The bubbly feeling returns, more intense than before - and she feels something else, a little lower down.

A downright devious thought crosses Bo-Katan’s mind.

“We’re practically alone right now, you know,” she starts, leaning against the console, voice low, “you’re what, thirty, forty yards ahead of the rest? They can’t hear you talkin’ in your bucket - or me, for that matter.”

“Bo, what are you on about,” he asks. She shakes her head - she adores him, she really does - but he really is clueless sometimes in matters outside combat, killing, and conquest.

“Well, we could talk about…private stuff. Like how fekkin’ much I wish you were here with me,” she sighs melodramatically. “It wouldn’t be so bad being stuck in the cockpit if I had you to distract me. We could do something…fun.”

“I don’t *wan’t* you distracted, I need you to watch the-”

“You know our last actual proper clothes-off, horizontal-surface fuck was over 2 weeks ago? I don’t know how I haven’t gone completely crazy since,” she sighs - for them, that’s practically a century and a half’s timespan.

“Bon'ika, do you think we could save this for when I’m *not* speeding over unfamiliar terrain at over a hundred k’s an hour?”

Already his voice sounds strained - with annoyance of course, but more than a little arousal underneath. Bo’s grin turns predatory and she goes for it.

“What, you’ve *never* thought about doing this? Dirty talk over the comms? You love it when I murmur filthy things into your ear when we fuck - and Manda knows I love it when you do the same for me - what was it that last time - you only had time to finger me gloves-off while humping my thigh, and you were snarling about wishing that you could plow me against the wing of the Gauntlet till I couldn’t stand?”

“I’m serious, Bo-Katan - stop it.”

“No wait, it was against the *bulkhead* of the Gauntlet.”

“Fek’s sake, I’m cutting the feed, you’re impossible-”

Bo-Katan slaps an anonymous-looking switch on the comm board, and grins when she hears Pre’s sputter of annoyance. That “lock open channel” software was the best invention, on par with the hyperspace drive and the uj cake. Bo would definitely drink an extra shot to the spirit of their late code-slicer on the next bonfire night.

“Oops. Now you can’t cut the transmission - and unless you wanna asphyxiate on the wind, guess you’re gonna have to leave that bucket on,” Bo-katan taunts.

Pre makes a strangled noise of frustration in response that she ignores.

“But if you were here…oh, if you were here…”

Bo-Katan leans back to her original position, with her legs spread slightly wider now as she props her heels up on the console. She flicks aside the shoulder-clasp of her 'suit, opening it just enough to bare her neck and upper chest.

“I’d have to get your gear off, first. Jetpack, helmet, armour, gauntlets, kneepads, greaves, boots - all of it. Much as I’d like to just let it fall where I want, I think this time I’ll be good to you and stack it up properly.”

“Thanks for that, at least,” he grumbles over the feed.

“Uh-huh. And under that armour…well, there’s that flight suit. Fierfek, you know it’s been weeks since last I saw you completely out of it? Not to say that you don’t look fantastic when you’re just out of the top half. It’s a pretty damn sexy look, all things considered,” she bites her lip, and savours the image that her words conjure up. The charcoal and deep blue of his armour and flight suit are infinitely more flattering on him than the sickly pale aqua-and-white of his old New Mando government uniform was. She dwells on the the gorgeous contrast between Pre’s ivory skin, with its constellations of freckles and scars, against the dark grey of the suit - especially where the deep-cut V of his hipbones carve downwards and under the waistband…

The pang of arousal that accompanies that image hits her hard and surprises her with its intensity - and reminds Bo-Katan of something else to torment her distant partner with.

“You’re already getting hard, aren’t you,” she murmurs, arms crossing behind her head.

“…yes,” he replies, sounding downright defeated.

“And it’s fucking painful. You do know I’m straddling a bike right now?”

“Yup,” she answers, matter-of-factly, letting out a low whistle when she spots the chronometer on the console. “And it’s barely been a minute. Damn but you’re quick on the draw - you’d think no woman had ever touched you before I did.”

“No women ever drove me up the shab'la wall like you did,” he grumbles.

“Too bad that you’re trapped out there in the cold, and with all that armour on top of your kad - oh, if only you were alone. You could just turn around and ride back here and have your way with your riduur, simple as that,” “but you’re working now. Mand'alor can’t just drop everything and rub one out behind a tree, either, least of all with those supercommando lads nearby. But they might never know - you’re pretty good at keeping’ your voice down when we’re fucking one tent-flap away from the rest.”

As if on cue, Bo-Katan hears a noise like a choked-off gasp, and she *knows* that sound. He’s trying to get some relief by rutting against the seat of the speeder bike - and *still*trying to be quiet.

“Real dignified, Alor'ad,” she chuckles. In her mind’s eye, she can see his face redden with anger and embarrassment as she dimly hears a commando pull up closer on his 'bike and ask if he’s alright because evidently he’s swerving and twitching a bit.

“Are you dirty talking me or trying to sabotage me in front of the ramikade?” Pre huffs into the comm, after a shouted demand for the nosy commando to mind his own karkin’ business and fall back into line.

“For a man who’s an unwilling captive audience, you’re still pretty demanding,” she muses. “Now where was I - ah, you being down to half of your flight suit. Nice to look at, and practical enough for most purposes…” she trails off, pondering briefly where exactly she wants to go from here.

“But I want you naked for this. Easy enough with it half-off, I just have to yank down the rest of it and boom, done.” she pauses, thoughtfully fingering the edges of her 'suit.

“I’d want you to get my gear off, too - I’m only in my flight suit, so it should be simple for you just to rip it off like always. I love it when you get like that - desperate and eager, like you’ll die if you can’t get me naked in time. How you grab my hips to pull me close, then do your damn best to kiss me breathless, with one hand in my hair and one on my ass.

"The best part’s feeling your kad, all hard and ready against my belly. Like your own body can’t stop reminding me of just what I do to you,” she finishes, voice a little lower, breathier.

“What you do-? Oh, what I’m going to do to you once I get my hands on you, you haran'goten hut'uun - ! ”

Bo-Katan ignores Pre’s stream of insults raging over the comm in favour of the mental images stirring up of their last intimate encounter. The memory of her riduur completely, gloriously naked, and the sheer weight and heat and *hardness* of his body against hers, sends a fresh rush of heat racing through her blood. It also reminds her that she’s a bit too clothed at the moment to really get into it. So she pushes her 'suit open more, enough to expose her breasts and body as far down as she can manage, and for extra room unbuckles the flimsy belt that divides the top and bottom halves of her outfit. Despite the warmer air in the cockpit, her nipples start to harden swiftly, as she brushes her fingers over them. Gently turning the metal studs that decorate the stiff little peaks, she lets her eyes slip shut and her mouth run wild.

“I’d want your hands, first. On my chest, holding, massaging - you’re one of the only men I’ve known who wasn’t all hung up on my small tits, y'know that?”

“They’re perfectly fucking fine,” Pre growls, sounding genuinely angry - as if anyone finding Bo-Katan’s body anything less than perfect was worth throwing down a challenge to a duel for. It’s endearing, really.

“And you do a perfectly fucking fine job handling them,” she purrs, rubbing her palms lightly over her breasts, letting her nipples harden further before squeezing again. “I’m touching 'em right now and my hands aren’t half as good - your hands are just so big over 'em, so warm and rough.”

The thought and touch-memory of his hands sends another surge of arousal through her, making her throb in a most intimate of places. Bo-Katan squirms a little, wedging her undershorts into a somewhat more comfortable position. Soon, but not yet.

“I’d want your mouth on my tits as soon as you could - kissing’s great but fek, you’ve just got a great mouth and I need it in places besides my lips. And I just love it when you toy with my piercings - how you get the metal between your teeth and tug a little. You learned your way real fast for a man who claimed he’d never seen anything like 'em before.

"I’d like that mouth elsewhere too,” she pants, running one hand down slowly from her neck all over her bared skin, moaning at her own touch on sensitized skin - half-theatrically to drive Pre more insane, and half-truthfully because she really is craving *his* touch now.

“I want your mouth everywhere - on my neck, my ribs, on my stomach, on my hips -”

She trails her right hand down, past the patch of dark red curls to where she’s already aching and swollen and beginning to get slick, too.

”Fierfek, I’m so wet already just from the thought of your shabla mouth on me,“ she gasps. Bo-katan now trails two fingers through the slick gathering between her inner lips, before dragging them back up laden with wetness to rub lazy circles around her clit. She can’t mask the jolt of her body and the gasp she lets out - she’d been keyed up for a while, enough that the first touch of her fingers on the swollen bud sends a spark like a blaster bolt through her body. She breathes in a deep, shuddering breath before continuing.

"But what I’d really fucking like is that mouth of yours on my cunt.”

She can hear Pre’s strangled moan and his renewed, harsher breathing over the comm almost as clear as if he was right there. If she shuts her eyes she can practically feel the hot puffs of air against her skin…she keeps her fingers moving doing her best to imitate the strokes of his tongue against her.

“I- I love how you just bury your face between my legs and mouth away at me, like it’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever tasted and you just can’t get enough of it - fuck knows I can’t get enough of you doing it. I think you keep your hair so short just to drive me crazy, not giving me anything to pull on while you lick me out. The best part’s when you finally decide to give me something to clench around, when you give me your hand - and your fingers the most.”

She lets out another gasp as she slides her first two fingers up inside, pumping them in and out, slowly at first.

“I’ve- ’ve got my fingers in my cunt, now - stroking inside and up, crooking just like you do - ohh, it feels good, so good but they just don’t measure up to yours, and I don’t’ have your mouth with them.”

“Well that’s just too karkin’ bad for you,” he growls, over the comm, arousal and rage clear together his voice. She ignores it, far too gone to care now.

“But now it’s time for my favourite part - and I bet it’s yours, too. Y-you know - When you finally lose your patience and pull your hand away and you hoist my legs around your hips and just thrust your kad inside me, hard and deep as you dare. No teasing, no prep, because you just know by then that I’m ready for you,” she sighs, shuddering, “cyar'ika.”

On the last syllable of that word, Bo-Katan pulls her fingers away, and then thrusts them back in as hard as she can, the third folded in front of her index and middle to stand in for the girth of his cock. She huffs in mixed pleasure and frustration - It’s a poor imitation of her absent spouse to say the least. Her hand’s at an awkward angle and she can’t even get very deep, and her wrist is going to pay for it tomorrow. But dammit, she wants to get off and drive her riduur mad at the same time, so damn her aching muscles. She keeps talking.

“And nothing beats that first plunge - the way you gasp every time, like you’ve never felt a cunt in your life before. Love that sound, almost as much as your kad deep inside me - always makes me clench round you hard and you snarl like a massif and bite my throat,” she tilts her head back, unpinned hair falling away from her neck.

“I’m- I’m giving you my neck right now, babe, fek but I can almost hear that growl of yours.”

A downright feral noise comes from the other end of the comm. 

“Mmh, yesss, that’s the one. But - f-fierfek - you’re a way better ride than you know. Or maybe you do know, cos you never f-fight me when I push you over on your back. Y'sure got plenty of practice with me - you were so weak the first times, making me do all the work but now, even flat on your back w-with your arms tied up you buck harder than a wild dalgo. You like being under me, don’t you - you like to watch my tits bounce, n’ grabbing my ass hard enough to bruise…”

Bo-Katan can’t hear his reply, but she knows he’s probably just clenched his jaw in sheer frustration now, silent fury winning out over roaring rage. She mentally pictures Pre’s armoured hands tightening around the handles of the swoop in lieu of her body, synth-leather and plastic creaking under his grip, and his hands underneath the gauntlets with the sinews and bones standing in high relief.

“But I know you like seeing my face most of all, when I’m looking down at you while I ride you. Oh, if only you could see *your* face then - lookin’ up at me with those pretty pale eyes like I’m one of the Ka'ra warriors come down from the stars, and like you could die right then and die happy. When you take your hands off my hips or ass or tits and hold my hands instead, and when you *kiss* them - fierfek I could come on the spot from that, just from knowing how much you - aahahh! - a-adore me.”

She’s not exactly telling the truth, there - great as the image is in her mind and in reality, it’s still not enough to finish her off. Her hand is aching and she really, really fucking wants to come now. She feels it’s about time to end the show, for the sake of her wrist tendons.

“But this is after a while, and you’re getting close, you’re riding the edge and your rhythm’s failing, and you’re trying *so* hard not to come before me, but it’s so hard to hold back. And you’re making those little desperate noises that are yours, yours alone whenever I squeeze your kad- f-fuck but I’m close, this might j-just be your lucky day where you outlast me, h-hah,” she laughs, a little breathlessly before another, louder moan slips past her lips.

Bo-Katan’s definitely done playing around, and she’s not even listening for Pre’s replies now as she works her hand as hard and deep as she can go inside her. Still, she can just barely touch the spot that makes her see stars with the tips of her fingers, and she presses her thumb against her clit, now desperate for a release.

“Like it so much more when we finish at the same time, your eyes on mine, holding my hands over your heart, begging me to come with you, around you, oh please, Pre- nnhnh!”

She comes hard, her back arching, legs shaking as the wave washes over her and her cunt spasms around her fingers. An extra brush of her thumb over clit gives her orgasm a second wind and she moans again as the pleasure races up her spine and rushes outwards into every muscle and nerve, back and forth in a tide of heat and energy, gradually subsiding into a gentle but deep warmth she feels seeping into her very bones, leaving her feeling warm, relaxed, *happy*. Bo-Katan basks in it for a few minutes, breathing deeply, feeling her heart rate settle to something resembling normal before pulling her hand out from her shorts and wiping it on her thigh. There’ll be time enough for laundry later. Zipping up her suit, she drops her legs down from the console and stretches her cramped muscles, letting them loosen them up again before leaning forward, elbows propped on the dash, hands under her chin.

“And that’s what I wish we could do instead of you being out there scouting the terrain and me watching the screen,” she sighs, dreamy and sated and smirking, not giving a single fuck about how Pre is miles away, painfully turned on, trapped in his armour and is probably about to scream at her in all three of his languages for abusing the comms.

But now, there’s only silence from the other end of the channel.

“Boss? Pre? C'mon, I was only messing around, don’t get all sulky-silent on me.”

Still nothing.

Her brow furrows, and she double checks that the channel is still open. It is, and remains so even when she turns the “lock” switch off, and on, and off again several times. Fek, she hoped she hadn’t *actually* made him crash. Thankfully, she could still hear the faint background noise of rushing wind and the roar of the bike’s engine.

So why couldn’t she hear *him*?

Suddenly there was a noise of activating energy, and the cockpit was flooded with dim amber light from the dark hallway behind her.

Something had engaged the security shields remotely.

Bo hit the switch to turn them back off - nothing. Now she was starting to get concerned, rising adrenaline cutting through the pleasant haze of her afterglow. Desperately she hit the comm again, hearing the same ambient wind noise. She tried raising the other scout party leaders, and found that she was now unable to reach them.

“Boss, something’s gone wrong, someone’s got control of the shields and the other comms are dead - come on, answer me!”

Bo-Katan hears a noise - quiet, but not unlike the sound of a studded boot sole scraping deckplate. Instinct takes over. Grabbing her pistols, she ducks behind the copilot chair in a defensive crouch.

“I think - I think someone’s in here-”

Suddenly there’s a noise - and something gets thrown into the corner by the other pilot’s chair. Bo-Katan barely has time to register the thing as armoured boots and a piece of some other kind of body armour, before someone grabs her shoulder and hauls her up standing in a grip like tempered beskar against an armoured body.

“You would be right, you little shabuir,” Pre snarls.

“Manda'ner! It’s just you cyare, I thou-

He clamps a still-gauntleted hand over her mouth, cutting her off before she can finish.

"Shut up, chakaar. I’ve heard enough out of you for now,” he snaps, shoving her face-first against the rear wall of the cockpit and wrenching her arms back, trapping them behind her in the crush-gaunt grip of his left hand.

In their sparring sessions, Bo-Katan has beat him as many times as he’s beaten her, her smaller size and lighter weight of no consequence when they face each other as equals in combat. But this is different. Pre’s caught her off-guard, and already pinned her into a hold she can’t escape from. It’s both terrifying and arousing to be reminded of just how strong he really is at times like this.

Grabbing the fabric of her flight suit at the shoulder, he yanks it down over her arms, seizing her wrists again before she can wriggle away the moment he gets it down past her ass, taking her undershorts down with it. Pre pounds on the wall by her head to hit the release for his right arm bracer, the loud *clank* making her jump. He yanks the gauntlet off with his teeth, flinging it away almost before his previously discarded armour hits the ground.

He drags the rough fingertips if his now-bared hand across her over-sensitive cunt, shoving two of them up inside her roughly, even pinching at her still-swollen clit. Bo-Katan whines, lost for words - as much his touch sends renewed shocks of pleasure up her spine, it’s too much for her over-taxed nerves and it also *hurts*. The press of his cold, hard armour against her bare skin makes her flinch and shiver, squirming uselessly against his grip, and she feels more than she sees his cruel smile against the side of her neck.

“Well, at now i know least you weren’t lying - you *are* wet, dush dala'ika. You’d best hope that it’s enough,” he rumbles against her ear, sinking his teeth into the lobe.

She barely has time to register his words or hear him fumbling one-handed with his clothes - he wasn’t’ wearing boots, the rational part of her mind notes - before he’s kicking her legs apart and mounting her from behind, thrusting in hard and deep as he can at the get-go.

Bo-Katan feels his full-body shudder, inside herself and outside, and can’t’ hold back her own breathy moan.

“Mar'e,” Pre groans in relief, grinding hard against her, the bones of his hips digging into the give of her backside with enough force that she swears there’ll be twin bruises on her ass tomorrow.

“Pre, y-you’re really-”

Without warning he bites her, clamping his teeth around the spot where her neck joins shoulder, the sudden pain making her gasp and lose her voice before she can finish the thought.

“Ne'johaa, di'kutla chakaaryc dalab!” he snarls at her in Mando'a through clenched teeth, and the words coupled with his tone are enough to cow her into silence with a whimper - that, and his concerted efforts to force any air out of her lungs that she could be using to talk back.

He starts thrusting in earnest, holding nothing back, taking his built-up frustration out on her body in a brutally fast and rough pace. His free hand moves from between her legs up to her breasts and back down again, raking his short nails from her collarbone right down to her cunt. All Bo-Katan can do is squirm uselessly against his grip and take the pounding, with nothing but the sound of their harsh breathing to break the silence.

It can’t last long - Pre is way too keyed up to hold out for much more than a couple more minutes and he never was much of a long-distance runner. He comes with a growl, sinking his teeth into the back of her neck like a mating strill. Bo-Katan follows him over the edge a heartbeat later, keening as the aftershocks radiate from her core outwards, arching back against the sudden dead weight of him plastering her to the wall.

They lean heavily there, against the cold steel plating, for a few minutes, Pre’s legs shaking while he comes down from the high, his breathing returning to something resembling normal. Bo-Katan shivers a little when she feels his cock start to soften and slip out of her completely.

“Fierfek, woman, you’re going to get me killed one of these days,” he mutters when it does, pressing a kiss, softly now, against the bite mark he’s worried into her neck.

Bo-Katan just manages an absolutely pathetic whine in response, and Pre correctly understands it as meaning “I can’t fucking breathe”. He moves away, finally taking his weight off her back and she heaves big gasps for air, feeling suddenly very light-headed.

Standing up is definitely something beyond both their abilities right now, so - somehow - they slide down to the floor gently enough, Pre ending up with his back to the wall and Bo-Katan sitting sideways on his lap, head tucked under his chin. Her flight suit’s back on but with the entire front left undone. At some point Pre had pulled his undershorts back up, but not bothered zipping up his fly, and his boots and groin armour remain in the corner where he’d flung them before.

They’ve settled into a comfortable, satisfied silence, as hours or maybe only minutes pass. It always seems that no matter the intensity or violence of their sex, they never feel the need to ruin the afterglow with useless pillow talk. Bo-Katan’s not sure if it’s a Mandalorian thing or just a Bo-and-Pre thing. And she isn't sure its worth pondering, anyhow. 

Still, she feels the need to ruin the usual quiet to satisfy the one question still left on her mind.

“Cyare? Can I ask you something?” she mutters.

“Mhm,” he grunts, shifting so that he can look her in the eye.

“Mind telling me how you fooled the map tracker and trapped me in here with the shields?”

Pre holds up his left hand, still armoured with its brace and gauntlet.

“Got remote controls of the flagships’ essential functions,” he replies with a lazy smirk.

“The comm-jamming was child’s play, likewise making the audio recorders play back the ambient noise on loop. It was a bit more complicated at one-fifty K’s an hour, but still easy enough to short out the tracking beacon in my helm to make it look like I was moving further away when I was really getting closer. Really, I just took off my boots so you wouldnt’ hear me coming up the ramp. Throwing them with the cod armour to distract you - that was a last-minute idea that I didn’t think was going to work, but well, you fell for it.

"As for those bright young ori'ramikade - they aren’t so daring and brave as yet to question the Mand'alor’s order to go on ahead while he doubles back to re-assess a previously mapped quadrant.”

“Werdla chakaar,” she mutters, leaning against his armoured shoulder.

“Says the woman who broke the rule about comm sex when I’m working,” he scoffs, “and in public.”

“Well,” Bo, nuzzling his scruffy jaw, “four commandos is hardly public. And…we *are* alone right now - not technically like before, either. For real.”

She draws back, purposely keeping her face neutral, studying his.

Pre raises one eyebrow - just before a knowing look dawns on his face.

He taps something onto a hidden panel on his wrist brace, and the emergency blast doors to the cockpit slam shut.

Bo-Katan grins.

**Author's Note:**

> Mando'a translations
> 
>  
> 
> Shab'la - screwed up, fucked up, general rude adjective
> 
> uj'ayl - sweet syrup
> 
> Shabuir - jerk, asshole, dickhead, generally strong insult
> 
> Alor'ad - boss, commander
> 
> haran'goten hut'uun - hell-spawned shirker/coward, extremely strong insult
> 
> ramikade/ori'ramikade - commando/supercommando
> 
> Kad - cock/penis, lit. sword.
> 
> Cyare - sweetheart, love, dearie etc.
> 
> Riduur - spouse, wife or husband 
> 
> Manda'ner - good heavens/my god, general exclamation
> 
> Dush dala'ika - naughty/bad girl
> 
> Mar'e - at last/finally!
> 
> Ne'johaa di'kutla chakaaryc dalab! - Shut up, you no-good rotten woman/bitch!
> 
> Werdla chakaar - sneaky bastard


End file.
